


a criminal, an alley, a car

by fishycorvid



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Kissing, Not Canon Compliant, That's pretty much it?, They're on a case, This is fluff, before they become a Thing, confident!Amy, conflict? don't know her, gritty fluff but still fluff, nervous!Jake, post-The Defense Rests, pre-Johnny and Dora, romantic stylez, set in the second season, they get hurt, this is my first time writing a b99 fic, with a Z
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 06:43:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13875339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishycorvid/pseuds/fishycorvid
Summary: Amy is covered in abrasions. Amy is breathing hard from pain and exertion. Amy has dark circles under her eyes from too many nights up late working cases. Amy is standing stiff-armed with her gun pointed at a murderer on the concrete of damp, dirty alley that casts odd shadows over her face. Amy is, as far as Jake is concerned, the most beautiful goddamn thing he’s ever seen.





	a criminal, an alley, a car

**Author's Note:**

> so, uh, this is my first time writing b99 so be nice? also i did this instead of my hw because Inspiration(TM). hopefully they're in character enough lol and i didn't make too many mistakes (this is unbeta'd and also i haven't written fanfic since last August,,,,) . however i am very invested in this show and finished it in less than a week despite having school and life to attend to so i guess welcome, self, to the fandom?

They’re standing there in a dark, damp alley where the rain is drizzling down on their faces, mixing with the blood on their skin from various cuts and wounds, and their guns are pointed directly at the back of a perp, who’s currently laying spread-eagled on the ground with his hands tilted slightly up to show that they’re empty. Without pause, Amy bends down and cuffs him, one handed, keeping her other hand curled tensely around the gun. Even five feet away, Jake can see the bruises forming on her knuckles, the blood trickling from where the skin has split. A cut is over her dark eyes; he can’t remember when she got it. Even with it, she's almost too beautiful for him to take, and it's an effort to pull his eyes away from her face and to his own bruised hands. The criminal had put up a fight. That bastard had been evading the police for years, with multiple accounts of murder and physical assault-- the normal kind of physical assault, and the intent to kill kind of assault. Santiago had been hunting down this man for years, but he was elusive, and nobody could quite agree on what he looked like. Finally, _finally,_ they’d gotten a tip from another perp they'd brought in that he’d be at some hellhole club tonight, and the smile on Amy’s face had been so bright and triumphant that Jake had to struggle not to impulsively pull her into a kiss if only just to drink in that kind of happiness (never mind that the cause of that brilliant smile was the prospect of violent crime).

(He’d been having a lot of those almost-impulsive moments lately. Sitting across from Amy at their desk. In the driver’s seat of his car. Sitting at a stakeout. Working in the evidence locker, organizing case files. Watching her write on a notepad, nibbling slightly at the edge of her pen. Talking with Rosa across the bullpen. Letting her tease him about his general irresponsibility. Her letting him tease her about her general personality. Yesterday. Now. Constantly.)

“Peralta. Are you going to help me out or not?” Santiago’s voice draws him out of his reverie, and he shakes his head as if to shake off the fantasies (they’ll stick around, regardless. They always do). He scrambles to grab the perp and wrench him to his feet. The guy whips around his head to stare at him. His eyes are an electric, shocking blue, crazed and wild and manic.

“I’m gonna get you for this. I’ll get out, and I’ll fucking kill the both of you. Understand me?” His voice is dead serious, and it scrapes in his throat.

Jake forces himself to grin, despite the drop in his stomach. “Sure, buddy. Come on, let’s get you jailed.” He looks over the criminal’s shoulder at Santiago, only to find her eyes already staring into his, and for a moment his breath catches. In those deep brown eyes is an intensity he’s never seen on her before, a hot, burning emotion that he can't quite place and that makes him feel like his lungs are being constricted in the best way possible. The rain is getting into his eyes, dripping down off his nose, soaking into his hair, but somehow he can’t make himself break their gaze just to shake off some damned water.

It ends up being her that looks away first, her expression changing from that unidentifiable something into her normal serious focus. She grabs the perp’s other shoulder, and together they half-walk and half-drag him into their squad car waiting about fifty feet away.

“So,” Jake says as she slams the door closed behind the guy. “We caught him.”

“Yeah,” she says, but her gaze is focused on the side of his jaw. He touches it self-consciously and winces, and when he pulls his fingers away, they’re bloody.

“It’s been five years since you started tracking him.”

“Yeah,” she repeats, and that look is back in her eyes, that look that he can’t quite identify. It's downright intimidating, and he needs to clear his throat because it's so damn dry. Suddenly he realizes that they’re close, too close, and he wants to crack a joke, he wants to lighten the mood but the rain is sliding down Amy’s cheeks and there’s blood on both their faces and they’re solved a crime and she’s _looking_ at him, and his throat is too dry. 

Jake closes his eyes for a moment, and her lips are on his before he can even open them, tentative and soft and but somehow sure. He can’t help but gasp, just a little, and he can feel her smile against his lips, proud, probably, that she’s made the first move and knowing that it's affecting him. Hesitantly, he brings a hand up to her face, and then curls it into her hair; she sighs softly into his mouth and he thinks he’s made the right choice as heat pools in his stomach. He is 100% sure he wants to hear that noise again, and maybe (definitely) some other ones too. Amy is shoving him backwards now with more strength than he'd expected, pressing him up against the car, and suddenly the kiss is demanding and confident, not at all hesitant anymore. He leans into her as best he can from his angle, lips slotting together in a way he can describe only as perfect, and she presses her hands hard against his shoulder and hips and, okay, maybe he’s enjoying this too much. 

Oddly, she pulls away first, suddenly stuttering and awkward, blushing furiously. “I- sorry, I shouldn’t have- that was- totally unprofessional and uncalled for, I’m so sorry, I--” and then she realizes Jake is grinning and she stops talking. She’s smiling too, now, and inwardly she curses his smile for being so damn infectious. 

“Very unprofessional of you, Detective Santiago,” he smirks at her, voice rough and low, and _that’s_ enough to send a rush of heat through her. “But I’m not complaining. Not at all.” There’s an edge of a laugh there, and a smile twitching at the edge of his lips. 

Amy lets herself go again, slamming him with maybe a bit too much force into the door this time (Jake exhales sharply, partly due to pain, and partly due to other very predictable reasons) and pressing her lips back into his with an insistence, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. She can feel his heart racing against her hands, and when he ducks his head to press a kiss to her pulse point, she knows she’s just as bad because she can feel him smirking against her skin before he nibbles at the side of her throat. Amy tilts her head back, breathing much harder, and-- 

“HEY!” Their perp bangs on the side of the door. “For fuck’s sake, can you please just put me in jail?” 

Jake pulls back, laughing, eyes crinkled up at the edges. For a moment, Amy is indignant at his amusement, brows furrowed almost comically, but then the next thing she knows, she’s laughing too, leaning her forehead against Peralta’s. Almost subconsciously, she brings her hand up to his cheek and traces his jaw with her fingers. He winces when she reaches the cut, already beginning to bruise, and then relaxes. His arms are draped around her waist, one of her hands is knotted in his hair, and they’re bruised and bleeding in an alley. But with a soon-to-be convicted criminal as their testifying witness, there’s nowhere else they’d rather be.

_________

After they take the perp back to the precinct (gaining a nod of approval from Holt that Amy almost squeals at) and do the necessary paperwork (gaining no approval from anyone, because that’s their _job, Jake)_ they find themselves in the evidence locker, standing a foot away from each other in the cramped space.

“Okay, so,” Jake starts, and then laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair. “That happened.” 

A wry smile quirks up the corner of Amy’s lips. “Observant, Peralta. You wouldn’t happen to be a detective, would you?” 

Honestly, even she's a bit surprised at her bravado.

“Shut up, Santiago,” he grins, before his face is suddenly serious again. “You know what I mean.” 

Amy sighs and twists her fingers together at her waist. “Alright. So, I might like you. In a way that is decidedly not platonic. I’ve been making lists of occurrences, and they’re… consistent.” 

A bemused smile is curling at Jake’s lips, head slightly tilted, hair still damp and ruffled from earlier. "You've made lists for me?" A surge of affection takes hold of Amy. 

“Yes. And, definitively, I like you.” 

“Romantic stylez? Like, with a Z and everything?” Jake asks, and though his face is teasing and light, his eyes are asking a serious question. 

Amy rolls her eyes, but can’t fight a grin. “Yes. With a Z and everything.” The look on his face is of complete, genuine awe. _Damn it,_ she thinks, _if he doesn't stop looking like that I'm going to do something really stupid, like fall in love with him._ Slowly she leans forward and curls her hands around the lapels of his leather jacket, the material almost painfully familiar underneath her fingers. She looks up into his eyes, silently asking permission, and then kisses him softly, trying to put the words she can’t articulate into actions. At first, when she realized she liked him, she was frustrated- normally, she was good with words, she could rely on words; they were a constant in her life as much as calendars and lists and ambition- but around him, her words felt awkward and out of place. But so were his, mostly. Which, maybe, was what made them fit. His hands, familiar with their tiny scars and callouses and long, nimble fingers, are all over her as the kiss intensifies, and soon enough she’s gasping into his mouth as those damned fingers comb through her hair and slide under her shirt and over her ribs. She’s gripping his hips hard enough to leave marks, and she can feel his chest heaving against hers. When they break apart, they are both gasping for air. 

“Good?” Jake murmurs, pupils blown and lips a swollen red. She can’t help but feel a jolt of pride and maybe a bit of possession because _she did that._

Amy half-laughs, half-exhales breathlessly, and knows she’s in a state no more composed than he is. “Good.” 

And it is.

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed drop me a comment! they were really fun to write for. i haven't tried to write anything with even underlying passion in... ever i guess, so i'm definitely open for constructive criticism. thanks for reading!
> 
> also I’m on tumblr @fishycorvid if you wanna scream??? w/e


End file.
